Heaven forbid! that we should say one word against civilisation. Do we wish to live in a state of society which was so easily excited that if a man but sneezed some fiery fellow would fancy himself insulted and out with his bodkin and put it through one? Heaven forbid! we say again. But, good people all, the struggle for existence is great. The weakest at all times go to the wall. The noble savage allows his weakly and sickly offspring to die; perhaps even at times he assists nature, occasionally knocking an aged parent on the head, saving thereby much pain and suffering on the one side, and trouble and anxiety on the other. But see what your civilisation does. See how far superior it is; how supremely human. It calls in that eminent physician Dr. Science, and with his help your sickly human weeds are nourished and reared until they are old enough and strong enough to marry and multiply. Weeds produce weeds and quickly. A sickly body can only sustain a sickly mind, and so the world wags and whole peoples become undermined. What would we do? Nothing. We sit and watch things taking their course, and note the many advantages that civilisation has over barbarism.
It is an old, old tale, yet in the telling of it nature alone is not prosy. She has such a way of telling the same story over and over again and ever varying it some little in the telling. What wonderful powers of variation has our mother! Take a million faces and by some subtle combination of the same features she gives an individuality to each. But to return to our noble savage. In a rough and ready fashion he surmounts the difficulty of his useless members of society. By an extensive and well-organised system, civilisation finds out the exact amount of sustenance it takes to keep the body and soul together in an aged broken-down pauper. Then separating an aged couple, who perhaps have borne the brunt of many a misfortune together, it allows them to drain to the last drop the dregs of life, holding up to them as a consolation the plenty that lies in paradise. Civilisation justly condemns the inhuman custom of the otherwise noble savage; but does not deny itself the inward satisfaction of a sigh of relief when some person who, having lingered perhaps a trifle too long over his or her exit, eventually goes. "Poor soul," they say, "it is a happy release. Gone to a better and a happier world, no doubt." A pauper's funeral brightens a district and carries, if not joy, at least no sorrow to the hearts of the guardians of the poor.
We never said that civilisation was a gigantic workshop where hypocrites and humbugs are turned out by the thousands every day, whilst its religion occupies itself in manufacturing Pharisees. We have pointed out, if we have not demonstrated, the admirable laws by which civilisation works as regards the welfare of the poor, and we have shown the care that it takes of its sickly weeds, given to them such eminent advantages and allowing them to contaminate a whole community with their sickliness. We have acknowledged how in all respects, with the sole exception of grace and bearing, civilisation is superior to the savage state. But this much we will say, many savages we have seen who are very much more gentle in their manners; very much more honourable and even refined in their feelings, and very much more humane, than the roughs of civilisation. No doubt every civilised family has its extremely black sheep. The Buccaneer certainly had his, and compared with them, the gentle savage is a well-bred gentleman.
Then look at your pale-faced drudge of civilisation. With bent back and emaciated face and smarting eyes, her thin but nimble fingers stitch on from early morning, till after the weary sun has sunk to rest. On, on, she works with scanty food, and in an impure atmosphere. Poor soul, has civilisation done much for her? Has it buttered her bread more thickly or sweetened more her tea? Is her lot any better than that of her sister who toils and slaves out in the open, while her brave lies and basks in the sun of idleness?
But we have wandered far from that narrow strip of water that divided the Buccaneer from his neighbours on the mainland. It had been to him as a magic belt, and worth more than thousands of men. His neighbours had to look on and long and wonder perhaps how it was that such a man had been allowed to prosper. But all have heard of the row in the kitchen, between the pot and the kettle. His neighbours, however, repudiated with scorn any evil intentions and they only kept themselves armed to the teeth to keep wicked robbers and cut-throats away; but it was a wonder to many people where they could be, because, if asked, all declared that all they wished for was to be allowed to live in peace, and quietude, so that they might enjoy the reward of their honest, industrious, and highly respectable lives, and fit themselves for heaven.
CHAPTER XXIV.
Arriving on the shores of his nearest neighbour, Madame France, the Buccaneer landed, and as he intended to make a few calls inland, he sent his yacht round to the Golden Horn with orders to await there his arrival.
The Buccaneer took off his hat and made his politest bow; but his reception was by no means as cordial as he had expected. As is well known by all those who have experienced it, there is nothing so freezing as the cold politeness of a haughty beauty. It requires more brazen effrontery than even old Dogvane had, to carry it off with a high handed dignity as if nothing was wrong. That Madame France was beautiful there could be no doubt, and she would have made the blood quicken in the veins of the most eminent saint, and as for a sinner! well, there is no use going into particulars.
It is more than probable that the charms of this lady were not lost upon either the Buccaneer or his trusty captain William Dogvane. Then, as if the devil was in it, Madame had added to her natural beauty, by calling in the assistance of every art. Her figure was neat and most attractive, and her dress left nothing to be desired. In her display of charms she was generous without being coarse and vulgar, and her short kirtle discovered the prettiest of ankles, and just enough of a well-shaped leg to be peculiarly attractive. Even old Bill felt young again and his eyes glistened with delight, and he was no less inclined to be gallant than his master, who for the time forgot the precept taught him by his religion about coveting other people's goods.